Free Time
by Samiferal
Summary: Hotch forces Reid to take a break. Now Reid doesn't really know what to do with it and takes the chance to think about all his problems, mostly those shown in "Corazón". Reid's POV, obviously. No pairings, no OC's, but quite a lot of sarcasm.
1. Weekend Plans

**And once again it's 1 a.m. and I am writing a fanfiction about the man I refer to as "My Angel." Currently, his life pretty much sucks, and I just love writing about it. Still, this is not particularly angsty, but rather sarcastic and - at least I think so -quite funny. Enjoy. **

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Hotch had practically forced him to take the rest of the week off.

Spencer could just hope that Morgan hadn't told their boss anything about what the two of them had discussed in the men's room. But even if Morgan had once in his life been able to keep his mouth shut about Spencer's problems, it would probably have been obvious to Hotch that something was very wrong with his youngest team member.

Now Spencer was sitting in his apartment and didn't really know what to do with his involuntarily gained free time. There was no film or play he wanted to see, and even to him, four days of doing nothing but reading, eating and trying to sleep didn't seem overly desirable. Besides, he would probably not even be able to concentrate on a book - a realization which brought him back to his actual problem.

His headaches had not gotten any better since they had begun. Neither had his insomnia, his inability to focus or his hypersensitivity to light. On the contrary - now, it sometimes happened to him that he looked up and what he saw was grotesquely distorted, blurry or absurdly illuminated in some unnatural color. At the moment, these crazy "special effects" of his eye vision still disappeared after a few seconds, but how long until they would stay this way?

_Okay now. Don't get freaked out. How about you start making some plans if you don't want to spend the next four days sitting on this bed? _

The problem was, Spencer had never been good at coming up with weekend plans. He and the rest of the team usually worked so much that often it just wasn't worth the effort. And if they had a free evening, they mostly just ended up in some Chinese restaurant for dinner - and even in case this decision could be called planning, Spencer was never involved in it.

(If he was, they would certainly not eat in a _Chinese _restaurant - he quite liked the food, but it still was a mystery to him how 33% of the world population were able to stay nourished eating with chopsticks.)

Of course, Spencer could go to Nevada and visit his mom in the hospital. She would be happy. That was, in fact, the only idea he could come up with. _Quite pathetic, _he thought to himself. Anyway, what was he gonna say if his mom asked him how he was? That would certainly be entertaining:

_"Thanks, I'm fine, mom. How about you? Oh, by the way, Dr. Norman, guess what? I've been having these really strange headaches and hallucinations lately, isn't that awesome? How about I just stay here, I'm sure you could find another free room?"_

He couldn't help but laughing. It was a bitter, joyless and rather sarcastic laugh, he noted without surprise. 

Or maybe he should just make his way to the next drug store, purchase some sleeping pills and _really _spend the next four days in his bed. With all the sleep he had not been able to find over the last weeks it would probably not even be a mistake to do that.

But, of course, he immediately remembered that he had long ago sworn not to use _any _type of drug unless he was in some kind of lethal situation. The thought of medication still scared him, and unfortunately his mom wasn't the only person responsible for this.

He shivered as the memory of a syringe sinking into the inside of his elbow and him being helplessly tied to a chair appeared in his mind as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. He groaned.

_Thanks so much, eidetic memory. A little post-traumatic stress is _exactly _what I need right now. How did you guess?_

He got up, went into his small bathroom and splashed some cold water into his face. When he looked into the mirror, he was quite shocked: He looked at least ten years older than he was. There were lines of worry on his forehead and the ever-present shadows under his now sunken eyes seemed about three times the size they were supposed to be, dominating his whole face and making him look like some killer from a bad horror movie.

If he went and tried to buy sleeping pills looking like this, they would probably suspect him of suicidal intentions. And anyway, he did absolutely not feel like going out and talking to people right now. His over-active mind, of course, immediately offered him a not very comforting hypothesis as to why this could be so:

_The first, so-called prodromal stage of paranoid schizophrenia is always associated with isolation, general social withdrawal, significantly reduced performance at work and a lack of motivation. The word "prodromal" is derived from the Greek _prodromos, _which describes something that comes before and signals an event._

Spencer sighed and let himself fall onto his bed, ignoring the neatly folded blanket. Maybe he should really just go to Las Vegas and visit his mom. Play some Scrabble and talk about things only the two of them were able to comprehend at the first attempt. If she asked him, he would just say that everything was fine - he didn't want her to worry more than she already did. Yes. That's what he would do.

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	2. Scrabble

**By now, some of you may have noticed that I desperately lack what other people might call a "life". But since this is a forum for fanfictions, I suppose I'm not the only one.**

**Anyway, thanks so much to lolyncut, Sue1313, Harrypotter-PercyJackson, CherryCherryB and luvnumb3rs for reviewing! I have indeed decided to write another chapter for this story (even though I wanted to make it a one-shot, but I sort of forgot to put that in the synopsis), especially because I simply love Diana Reid. I wrote this some time ago and decided it was too crappy to upload it, and now I read it again and actually liked it. I hope you do, too. I know this is too short. But enjoy anyways :)**

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Bennington Sanatorium. How ironical. A large, Victorian mansion in a huge, sunny garden full of park benches, graveled paths and weeping willows. If his doctor could see him now! Spencer knew that he had been a little unfair to the physician that had supervised his MRI. But oh well, yes, he had some sort of phobia of doctors telling him the kind of news that one had told him. Who could blame him?

_Relax, dude. You're here for your mom and nothing else. _

_As if having to visit your own mother in a mental institution makes the situation any better. _

Spencer took a deep breath and rang the bell next to the impressive gate. A few moments later, he was standing in the clean entrance hall of Bennington. Nurses, doctors and even some patients greeted him with smiles and little waves.

"Hey Dr. Reid, I heard you were coming today!"

"Good to see you around, you're mom is already waiting!"

"Nice to have you here!"

…_Excuse me? _It was rather scary how every single person here seemed to know him. Also, why would it be good to have _anyone _in here, apart from business reasons?  
>One of the doctors - Dr. Norman, he remembered - approached him.<p>

"Ah, Dr. Reid. Diana is waiting for you in the library."

The doctor started to walk down a hallway, obviously expecting Spencer - who, of course, knew the way - to follow him. Inside his team, Spencer sometimes couldn't help but brag about his eidetic memory, much to the annoyance of his colleague Derek Morgan, but right now, the way he knew the Bennington Sanatorium by heart gave him a nasty home-from-home feeling.

"Here we are," the doctor announced when they were standing in front of the library door. "Diana really loves your visits - I wish you could come around a little more often."

"Doctor, you know that I live in Virginia, right? And I do write her letters every day." Spencer knew he didn't visit his mom often enough. It was not his favorite subject of conversation.

"Yes, of course. Shame, really. We haven't seen you here in ages. You must be… how old now?"

"Thirty-one, doctor."

_Yes, I know I am exactly the right age for the outbreak of schizophrenia. Thanks, doctor, but believe it or not, I am in fact fully aware of this. You don't have to give me that look._

"Anyway, I'll better go in now," Spencer said quickly, opened the door and entered the large, bright and friendly room. The sunlight fell through the windows, and dust from the long rows of bookshelves danced in the streaks of brightness. As usual, his mom was sitting in one of the big armchairs by one of the windows. She didn't notice him until he was standing next to her. Then she turned her head and gave him a stern look.

"This time, you actually look like you could use a cup of coffee," was the first thing she said. Spencer smiled weakly.

"Hey, mom."

"Hello, Spencer."

He sat down on another armchair vis-à-vis his mother. "How are you?"

Diana gave a cynical little smile. "Oh, you know. They don't actually _allow _you to be unhappy here."

"Ah," was Spencer's rather uncreative answer.

"So… should I ask you what you are doing here when I know that you don't have any vacation time this week, or do you want me to continue the small talk under the assumption that you are sooner or later going to tell me about it?"

"Small talk?", Spencer suggested without any real hope.

"Right. The latter was in fact not an option." She smiled, taking the edge off her harsh words.

"Would you believe me if I said that we don't have a case at the moment?"

"Not really, no. But whatever the reason, I can't say I'm unhappy that you aren't spending all of your time with those fascists."

"They're not fascists just because they work for the government, mom," Spencer sighed.

"I bet none of them read proper literature," she complained.

"Anyway, the thing is, I rarely use my vacations… so Agent Hotchner, my supervisor, allowed me to take these four days off. To visit you. Because the - the case the team is working on isn't particularly difficult and he decided they won't really miss me for a few days."

"Spencer, you know you're a terrible liar, don't you?"

"Yes."

But Spencer had decided that he wouldn't tell his mom about his headaches. Somehow, he had known it all along. He just didn't want her to worry. It was his fault that she spent her life imprisoned in this ridiculously beautiful, inviting institution; he had sent her away. He didn't even visit her, and even though he knew that he simply didn't have the time, it was unforgivable.

It seemed like the only thing he did to acknowledge her existence was thinking about the genes she might or might not have passed onto him. Yes, he wrote her letters every day, but they were filled with the gruesome stories about his job, and to her they had to seem more like crime novels than personal letters.

"So… do you want to go downstairs and play Scrabble?"

"So you're not going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, mom."

"Oh, don't lie to your mother, Spencer.

"Scrabble, mom?"

"If you say so. But let's stay here, I love the atmosphere of all the books around me - and I know you do, too."

Spencer smiled. Sometimes he didn't care that his mother was the only person who really knew him. She was his best friend.  
>And of course, taking care of your best friend always sounded less embarrassing than taking care of your mother. Spencer shook his head slightly to get rid of these unwelcome thoughts and stood up to get the Scrabble box from a small shelf filled with several popular board games.<p>

He and his mom played quietly, and if they talked, the conversations were trivial. It wasn't awkward, though, and although Spencer couldn't really get into the game, his thoughts running wildly, but of course still producing ridiculously good word combinations, he enjoyed being with her.

He silently wished they had had more of these moments when he was younger.


End file.
